


Interlude

by the_original_n_chan



Series: Welcoming the Wolf [3]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Alec/Eliot in context of OT3, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Casual Voyeurism, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, M/M, OT3, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Soft Alec/Eliot, Werewolf Eliot Spencer, handjobs, no actual wolfing occurs though, past homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22840345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_original_n_chan/pseuds/the_original_n_chan
Summary: Why shouldn't he kiss his boy?
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Series: Welcoming the Wolf [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641973
Comments: 20
Kudos: 165





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Soft Alec/Eliot, set in the middle of the first fic in this series, "Change," between the OT3's first kisses and the job gone wrong. (There's no actual werewolfery taking place here, but it does get referenced a few times.)

A little over an episode in, and Eliot still had no idea who most of these people were or what was going on (although the fight scenes were pretty cool). But Hardison was in full-on nerd mode, providing running commentary on how the show was different from the game it had apparently been based on, going _oh, Eliot, watch, this is a good part_ , or else just jumping around in his seat and talking back at the screen. And seeing him when he got like this was its own kind of pleasure, better than any show could be, one that had taken a while to grow on Eliot, but that now sat warm and comfortable inside his chest. Which was why his eyes kept drifting from the screen back to Hardison’s face, all lit up bright and alive with enthusiasm.

He was good to look at, too, just in general. It had barely been a week since Parker and Hardison had invited him into this thing they had together, and it was still new to him, to be able to look outright—to admit to himself that he _wanted_ to look.

(Parker, he’d looked at, but not before DC—not before Hardison had, in a weird way, invited him to. _I never get tired of that_ , Hardison had said, watching Parker weave her way through the laser grid, and the fist-bump Eliot had been offered had added, clear as words, _Look with me. See how amazing she is_. He hadn’t really known what to do with that at the time. Parker was Hardison’s girlfriend, and you didn’t eye another man’s girl like that, running your gaze along the flex of her body, admiring her lithe strength and the way those skin-hugging clothes left little to the imagination. But then, Parker was Parker, and nobody’s possession. In hindsight, he should’ve been at least as worried that _she’d_ think he was being a creep. But now their smiles and the welcome in their eyes and the press of their bodies said it together: _Look_. And _touch_. And _stay_.)

( _Always_ , the pang in his heart replied. _Always_. _For as long as you’ll have me._ )

He realized he’d been lingering on Hardison’s face, the TV a half-forgotten background noise, when Hardison noticed his stare. “What?” the man said, a little wary, like he was expecting Eliot to say that his newest geek obsession was dumb. Eliot felt a slow smile slide over his face. Hardison was sitting angled slightly toward him, one leg tucked up underneath, and all he had to do was turn to get his knee up onto the couch and lift himself so he could lean in, easy and unrushed, giving Hardison plenty of time to register what was coming. Hardison looked startled at first, then eager, grinning in delight against Eliot’s lips as they closed with his.

His mouth was perfect for kissing, full and sensitive. It yielded under Eliot’s, taking sweetly and then giving back in full. They were all still learning each other’s rhythms, but they were so used to working together that on some level they always knew where the others would be, how they would move, and there was a rightness to it, the catch and slide of their lips, the tilt of Hardison’s head, the way his hand gripped Eliot’s shoulder as he pressed up into the kiss, answering want with want. When they parted and settled back, his eyes were half lidded, like a satisfied cat’s.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured, leaning back against the cushions in an attempt to act casual, “but what brought this on?”

“What, I can’t kiss my boy if I feel like it?” Eliot teased. He saw the impact of his words in the way Hardison’s eyes widened, was close enough to watch their pupils dilate, dark on dark. And hell, why shouldn’t he kiss his boy, his beautiful, brilliant, dumbass genius boy, with the clever hands and a smile so wide and warm and sometimes outright wicked. _Mine,_ growled something deep and primal—the wolf in him, living underneath his human skin. His pulse kicked up as he bent to claim Hardison’s mouth again. A little more, and a little more, the kissing spooling out and then drawing them back in as they played each other like it was only them in the world. When he pulled away again, plucking Hardison’s lower lip delicately between his own before releasing it, they were both breathing faster.

On the screen, some guy had started singing. Moving slow, a little languid, not wanting to shake the moment, Eliot reached for the remote, his eyes never leaving Hardison’s. The man didn’t even complain when he turned the TV off, and Eliot smirked. “Wanna get a little more comfortable?” he drawled.

Hardison beamed back at him, a smile like sunlight. “If by more comfortable you mean moving this all to the bedroom, then I am _definitely_ down for that.” That sounded like a good idea, and as he stood he grabbed Hardison’s arm and hauled him up too. They collided lightly, and Hardison cradled his face before he could step back, bent to kiss him again. Eliot knew this dance so well, the push and pull of trying to make it to and through a doorway without a substantial pause between kisses, without letting go of each other for a moment more than necessary. Sometimes it could be desperate, but today, between them, it was playful rather than frantic. Which didn’t keep him from yanking Hardison back down into reach a couple of times when the man was using his height to be annoying.

“Sorry to make you stretch, man,” Hardison said, in a not-at-all-sorry tone of voice. Eliot just scoffed at him.

“I’ve dated plenty of women taller than you. _Not_ counting shoes.” Plenty was maybe an exaggeration, but it was still a significant number. He gave Hardison a little shove, sending him stumbling through the doorway at last.

“Ooh, so manly,” Hardison cooed—fucking _cooed_ , fluttering his eyelashes. Eliot gave that the unimpessed glare it deserved, then started, staring, as Hardison stripped his sweatshirt right off, flexing as he did, because of course, this was Hardison. And suddenly Eliot wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but somehow it hadn’t been this—which was _weird_ , considering how many times he’d been in this exact same situation and how it inevitably played out. But they’d all been moving so slowly, easing into whatever this was becoming, because it was new and uncertain and far too important to risk by rushing things, and because Parker was still figuring out how to be in a relationship with one person, let alone two. So they hadn’t yet gone farther than kisses (although some of those had gotten pretty heated), lingering touches, a full-body embrace at most. And that was fine. He could be patient for this. For them.

But now it looked like he and Hardison might be taking things a step or two further, and while his brain was still sputtering with surprise and a vague concern, his fingers had already unbuttoned his flannel, because after all he’d been the one to suggest that they “get comfortable,” and he wasn’t about to pussy out. He balled the shirt up and threw it at Hardison, who was still trying to pose like a stud while taking off his pants, then peeled off his undershirt. They both got down to underwear at about the same time; Eliot decided that was far enough for the time being and tackled Hardison to the mattress, Hardison yelping as he was taken down.

“Seriously, man? You gotta bring violence into the bedroom?” That was all he got out before Eliot shut him up in the most effective way, crawling up to cover Hardison’s mouth with his own. And there was skin on skin now as they settled into each other, their arms and chests brushing in ways that made sensation shiver through him, put a pleasant and persistent thrum of hunger into his blood. When he slotted his leg between Hardison’s, he could feel Hardison’s dick pressing solidly against him; that and Hardison’s breathless _mmph_ was a jolt of reality, of _yeah, we’re really doing this_ , and it cleared his head just enough for something crucially important to occur to him. He pushed back from Hardison, ignoring the man’s wordless protest.

“What about Parker?” he asked. Hardison looked blank for a second, and… _really_? “Is she okay with us doing this without her?” he clarified, and Hardison’s expression went stricken.

“Uh, yeah…yeah,” he mumbled, which turned out not to be an answer to the question after all as he rolled away, getting up to dig his phone out of his discarded pants. He sat back down on the bed, his thumbs tapping the keys with the unreal speed and precision that Eliot had never seen anybody else match, then hit send, set the phone on the nightstand, and fell back against the slightly ridiculous heap of pillows. “Sorry, man,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I shoulda….”

It did kind of kill the mood, considering there was no telling how long it would take Parker to respond. Eliot considered just giving up for now, but he took pity on Hardison’s hangdog look, and besides he _wanted_ this, and his body was still eager and hoping for it. Propping himself up on one elbow, he raked his hair back out of his face and grinned up at Hardison. “You’re real damn smart when you ain’t thinking with your dick,” he said.

“I think that’s meant to be a compliment, so I’m gonna take it as such.” Hardison fell quiet again, though he seemed less upset now, more thoughtful. Eliot wasn’t up for filling the silence—that was Hardison’s job—so instead he used the time to let his gaze rove over Hardison’s chest and arms. The man took good care of himself, kept himself fit, which was impressive considering how much of his time and energy went into the geek stuff, plus the absolute crap that he’d eat if allowed. It was for looks more so than for fighting, but that didn’t mean Eliot couldn’t appreciate it.

In fact, he was occupied enough with appreciating that he wasn’t expecting it when Hardison finally spoke up again. “Y’know, I’m kinda surprised by how easy you are with all of...,” he gestured in a way that encompassed the room, themselves, and in particular their dicks, “...this.”

Eliot gave him a wry smile. “Why, ’cause I’m a country boy? Or ’cause I was in the army?” Hardison looked a little embarrassed, but—fair point. There’d been a time when he would’ve been beyond horrified at the thought, when he’d’ve beaten someone down just for the suggestion, when the word _fag_ had been a weapon he and his friends had used carelessly. Just a small-town kid full of pride and ignorance, wanting to be a man but not knowing how or what it meant. Like people said, cliches were cliches because there was a truth in them. It had taken a long time out in the world for him to get past all that—even during his first year in Leverage, that time when Hardison had pretended they were partners to get into the rehab place, he’d been too shocked to grift along. (The fact that it had abruptly derailed his flirting with the receptionist hadn’t helped.)

But he’d come a long, long way from that small town. And nothing was ever so cut and dried as he’d once believed. He’d learned that down in the dirt and the blood, among all the lies that had cost him so many friends and fellow soldiers, where everything was shades of gray and nothing was ever clear except the sure knowledge that you could die at any moment. Where you drew your own lines as you needed to in order to survive.

“I’ve done it with guys before,” he said. And one of the things he loved about Hardison was the way the man _listened_ , witnessing without speaking. (It amazed him, too, how easy it had become to name that feeling— _love_.) “Out there,” he faltered, his eyes lowering to avoid Hardison’s gaze, “out there, sometimes...your head gets stuck in a real dark, lonely place. Or you just...you just have a _need_. So a guy helps a brother out. Y’know?” Hardison couldn’t know, not really, but still the telling eased him, more than he would’ve thought. He realized that he was slowly stroking the backs of his knuckles up and down along Hardison’s thigh; after an instant’s hesitation, he continued the motion. “It was just, like, handjobs ’n’ stuff,” he added. Squinting into the past, he tried to make a hazy memory come clear. “I think I got a blowjob from a guy once.”

“You _think_?” Hardison said, with a disbelieving chuckle. “How do you not _know_?”

“I was pretty drunk at the time.” He huffed a quiet laugh in turn. “It mighta been a guy. It was _definitely_ a blowjob.”

“Well, that all’s more than I’ve done,” Hardison admitted almost shyly, showing a surprising lack of bravado. His tone turned light as he added teasingly, “So be gentle with me, okay?”

“Yeah, man. I’ll be gentle.” Smirking, he gave Hardison’s nipple a sharp flick, earning himself a melodramaticly wounded look as Hardison clasped one hand defensively over his chest. And he didn’t know why the impulse possessed him just then, what shifted his mood so quickly, but the next words slipped out of him before he could think or question.

“You’re the first guy I ever kissed, though,” he said quietly, looking away again.

The beat of silence that followed was like the frozen eternity between realizing that somebody had a dead shot at you and the gun going off. “You mean,” Hardison said slowly, and the rising lilt in his voice confirmed Eliot’s worst fears, “you mean...you’re saying I took your gay kiss virginity?”

“My—” _Oh hell, no._ Shoving himself upright, Eliot jabbed a finger at Hardison’s face. “No. Just—” Hardison started laughing, clapping his hands slowly, his head thrown back against the pillows. “Just—ugh!— _stop_. Quit laughing at me, man.” He was seriously tempted to punch the guy. Instead, he groaned in disgust and let his head fall forward, knocking his forehead against Hardison’s shoulder. “Sometimes I really hate you,” he muttered.

“Nah.” He felt the gentle movement as Hardison shook his head. “Nah, you don’t.”

 _Yes—yes, I do_ , the Eliot of the past would’ve said. Not because it was true—the opposite. He’d lied and lied, sometimes to protect them, more often to protect himself. In his world, vulnerability got you fucked over, or worse, dead, or at the very worst got somebody killed who never deserved it. A man lived by his armor as much as his weapons, by his reputation as much as or more than the truth. It had been a long time since he’d opened up and shown his real self to anybody. Since he’d been able to trust that much.

Until Nate Ford and his crew. Until Parker and Hardison had worked their way under his skin and into his heart. Until at last, somewhere along the way, _one night only_ had turned into _for as long as we all live_.

He lifted his head and met Hardison’s gaze straight on. “No,” he said, a smile curving up the corner of his mouth. “I don’t.”

And he could see that Hardison got it. His eyes widened, then softened. Turning slightly toward Eliot, he brushed his fingertips into Eliot’s hair, and Eliot nudged up into that touch. When he glanced at Hardison’s face again, the sudden realization of how close they were took his breath. Hardison’s eyes shifted to his mouth, and he found himself focusing on Hardison’s in turn, and they were just starting to incline toward each other when Hardison’s phone made the shrill chirpy noise that signaled an incoming text.

Groaning, Eliot sprawled over onto his back as Hardison lunged for the nightstand, flailing haphazardly until he finally got hold of the phone. He read the text and then whooped, flinging his arms up into the air. “We got the all clear from Parker!”

Eliot blinked. “Really?” He didn’t know why he was surprised when he hadn’t even been able to hazard a guess as to what she’d say.

“She says, and I quote, ‘Go for it,’ exclamation point, exclamation point, and I did _not_ teach her about the eggplant emoji, I have no idea how—” Hooking an arm around Hardison’s waist, Eliot clotheslined him down onto the bed, then plucked the phone out of his hand and tossed it in the general direction of their clothes. “Hey! That is a delicate piece of tech—” He broke off with a gasp as Eliot’s teeth lightly dragged down the side of his neck. At the join of neck and shoulder, Eliot bit down with a little more force, then sucked firmly and deliberately, rolling his tongue over the spot until he was satisfied he’d left his mark.

“Did you just give me a _hickey_?” Hardison sounded vaguely shocked but not upset.

“Mmhmm.” Not usually a thing he’d do straight off, but the animal part of him was rumbling its satisfaction. Because Parker had given them her blessing, and just like he and Hardison were _hers_ , the two of them were _his_ , they all three belonged together in a way he’d never known but had instinctively hungered for all his life, and the mark said all of that for him without words, made the reality of it visible. Plus it had definitely gotten Hardison’s attention. He muted the aggression of it by changing pace, dropping soft, slow kisses here and there along Hardison’s throat, lipping along the edge of his jaw, and Hardison sighed, relaxing. Eliot’s nose was nowhere near as keen in this form, but Hardison still smelled damn good, and as he nuzzled into the man’s neck, a low, guttural sound of want escaped him.

“God, when you growl like that,” Hardison breathed, half laughing, and in some distant corner of his mind Eliot made a note for the future. For the present, he swung a leg over to straddle Hardison, then bent forward to kiss and lick at the top of his chest while thumbing experimentally at his nipples—and Hardison’s arms looped around him, fingers combing up along his spine as Hardison arched into him with a stuttering grunt. Sensitive there, then. One of Hardison’s hands scrambled up to knot in Eliot’s hair, tugging at it a little too hard for comfort.

“Gentler,” Eliot cautioned. Sitting back, he curled his fingers over Hardison’s and demonstrated the level of tension he was good with. “Guiding’s all right, or a steady pull. Just don’t yank.”

“ ’kay,” Hardison mumbled, his eyes looking a little glazed, but when Eliot released him, his grip eased up until it was little more than a suggestion. He shifted his hand a little, fingertips briefly grazing Eliot’s scalp in a way that sent pinprick shivers through him—like with neck reining a horse, just the subtlest of signals, but it made plain enough what he wanted, and Eliot gave it to him, lowering his head and leaning down. They kissed again and then went on kissing, long, deep, and drawn out, as their hands tried and tested each other’s body, clutching, kneading, stroking. The heat that had cooled during their hiatus was back and building; he could feel it in Hardison’s flush against his palm as he cupped the man’s face, in the sweat of their bodies as they moved. Hardison’s kisses and caresses got more urgent suddenly—a little too much so, more exaggerated than was natural. Hooking a leg over Eliot’s, he surged up, trying to flip them, and Eliot let him do it, tolerantly amused, at least until Hardison came swooping in to kiss him, misjudged the momentum of their roll, and bashed their faces together. Hardison recoiled immediately, looking mortified.

“ _Ow_.” Eliot touched his nose, more from habit than anything—he already knew they hadn’t collided hard enough to damage anything—then gave Hardison an incredulous look. “What was _that_ supposed to be?”

Hardison’s eyes went shifty, avoiding Eliot’s gaze. “Sorry—I was just, just trying to give things a little, you know, _extra_.”

And Hardison was the poster child of extra. Sighing, Eliot sat up, put a hand behind Hardison’s head, and pulled him back in close. “This ain’t the movies, okay? It doesn’t have to be a, a big _production_. Just—do what you feel.” Hardison drew in a breath, swallowed, then nodded. “You don’t have to try so hard,” Eliot added, because while it was flattering that Hardison wanted to impress him, that wasn’t what this was about. Not at all. He gave the man a little shake and then released him. “You’re _enough_.”

“ ’Course—of course I’m enough,” Hardison tossed back after a beat of pause, just long enough for him to have absorbed Eliot’s words and decided to act offended. It wasn’t one of his more believable grifts. “Never any doubt of that.”

“Mm-hmm. Great.” Laying back until he was propped up on his elbows, Eliot smiled in lazy invitation. “Now c’mere and kiss me right.”

Hardison hesitated, but when he came in for the kiss this time, it was sweet and genuine. Now _that_ was the man behind the show off. Eliot’s heart was his however he was, even if his attitude sometimes got obnoxious, but like this—it was like a slow summer morning, warmth sinking in down to the bones. And some other time they’d maybe (well, make that probably) do it hard and fast, and Eliot was for sure looking forward to that, but this was how he wanted their first to be, he realized now: a melting into each other, soft as honey. From the way Hardison sighed against his mouth, the tension easing out of him, he felt it too. They were good like this, letting everything be what it was, new and tender. And real, so astonishingly real it made Eliot’s heart catch and his stomach flutter, tipped the ache of his wanting over the edge to purest need.

Shifting his weight to one arm, Eliot trailed his fingers down Hardison’s chest, down his stomach to trace along the waistband of his underwear, dipping just beneath the elastic as Hardison’s muscles jumped under his touch. Shifting lower, he rubbed his thumb over the wet spot there, smiling at the high-pitched sound Hardison made, then cupped his hand over Hardison’s package and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Take this off,” he murmured, letting go to pluck at the fabric. “I wanna see you.”

They separated enough for Hardison to peel out of his underwear, and Eliot took the moment to slide out of his as well. He’d never really _looked_ at another guy before (not counting some ridiculous dick measuring contests back when he was young and dumb, which wasn’t _that_ kind of looking—or maybe it was, but if so no one would ever admit to it). It could’ve been weird, but it wasn’t. He liked seeing Hardison’s dick straining up with the desire for him, thought it was pretty decently good looking too, but more than anything, he wanted his hands on it, and Hardison’s on him. He drew Hardison back down, but it was Hardison who arranged them on their sides, facing each other, Hardison who touched him first, and he grunted with the relief of it. So good, and even better as they started stroking each other off. And oh, _oh_ , his boy had _technique_ , had skilled, sensitive fingers that learned him so quickly and thoroughly, that touched him like no one else ever had. “Knew you’d have good hands,” he muttered. “I _knew_ it.”

“You feel so good,” Hardison whispered back, breathless. And he felt nice in Eliot’s hand too, hot and full, although he realized, feeling Hardison’s fingers so smooth and soft on him, that maybe his hands were a bit too rough. Letting go, he draped himself across Hardison to reach the nightstand and took a couple of pumps of the lotion there. It smelled like orange blossom, and he chuckled wryly as he settled back. Hardison stole some from his fingers as he rubbed it in, and he groaned as Hardison reached down and slicked him up. Fuck, fuck, _yes_ , and as they started up again, the slide was amazing. Everything focused down to their hands on each other, then, pumping more urgently as the pressure for release grew. Eliot tucked his head under Hardison’s chin, felt as much as heard the words as they came spilling out: _baby_ and _oh, oh god_ and _yes._ The stuttering thrust of Hardison’s hips was real this time as he started to lose control. “I-I’m gonna—” he panted.

“Let go. I got you.” And like the words were magic, Hardison cried out and shuddered, splashing them both as he shot his load. Eliot held onto him through the tremors, stroking him until the last tension left his body and he sagged, sighing in bliss, his dick going soft in Eliot’s hand. Shifting back enough to see Hardison’s face, Eliot smugly admired the dreamy smile he’d put there.

“Oh, oh man,” Hardison mumbled, His eyes flickered open, and they lit up warm when they saw Eliot looking back at him. After a moment he blinked, and his smile turned both gentler and knowing. “Now you.”

“Yeah. C’mon.” And as Hardison took him in hand again, he gave himself up to Hardison’s sure grip, to the heat of having the man’s entire attention on him, searching out what he liked. “More. A little....” Hardison’s hand tightened, jerked him harder, and a low moan escaped him. “Yeah, y-yeah, like that.” So good, so fucking good, the raw pleasure building—he clutched at Hardison’s shoulder and just held on as he focused on nothing but _feeling_.

“You’re so good to us,” Hardison whispered, and a thrill splintered through him, bright shards of love and yearning, because no matter how bad he was, how bad he’d been, yeah, he could be good to them, good _for_ them. “Want to make you feel good. You deserve everything. _Everything_.” And he’d never want anyone else in the world to hear the broken sound he made, but there and then, it was all right. _I trust you_ , was all he could think. _I love you so fucking much_. Feeling himself on fire, he ducked his head, and when Hardison’s free hand curled behind his neck, scratching up his nape and into his hair, silvery ecstasy curled through him, making him gasp.

“Let go.” Hardison’s words were a breath against his forehead. “Let go for me, baby, let go—”

—and he pressed forward into Hardison’s hand and was gone.

When the white-hot blaze of orgasm had dwindled to lingering sparks, he let out a long shuddering breath. He still had a death grip on Hardison’s shoulder, he realized; unclenching his fingers, he pushed himself back and glanced up into Hardison’s face. The wonder there made him a little self-conscious, but more than anything he felt contented and affectionate. Leaning in, he kissed the corner of Hardison’s mouth, then rolled away onto his back. Inhaling deeply, he stretched every muscle, feeling his body purr with satsifaction.

“Good, huh?” Hardison asked.

“Yup.” Hardison chuckled, and the mattress shifted as he got up. Eliot stayed where he was, enjoying his perfect relaxation, until Hardison got back from the bathroom and handed him a washcloth. As Hardison hunted up his underwear, Eliot cleaned himself off, then tossed the cloth onto the floor.

“Hey! Don’t just throw that there!” Hardison protested.

“I’ll pick it up later.” Hardison gave him an outraged look, and he shrugged. “Jizz-cloth on the floor or on the bed. Your call.”

“It goes _in the laundry_.” Hardison picked the cloth up, pinching it distastefully between two fingers—which was hilarious, considering he’d had Eliot’s spunk all over his hand not even five minutes ago—and carried it off.

“You’re one of those people who gets all energetic and wired after sex, aren’t you?” Eliot asked as Hardison came bustlng back and started digging around in his dresser, having apparently decided that his underwear was too damp to put back on. He rolled onto his side to watch and incidentally admire the curve of Hardison’s ass.

“And you’re one of those people who gets all mellow and lazy, right? Are you a cuddler too? I bet you’re a cuddler.” Before he could reply (he was, but Hardison could find that out whenever he stayed still long enough), he sensed movement in his peripherals. A second later, there was a knock at the window.

“ _Parker?_ ” Hardison yelped, one leg in his underpants. As he tried to hop the rest of the way into them, Eliot looked back over his shoulder. Parker was perched outside the window, peering in through the half-closed slats of the blinds. Sliding the window open, she ran up the blind and put one leg in over the sill.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“Since when do you ask?” Eliot replied.

“Since when do you _knock_?” Hardison still sounded flustered.

“You’re supposed to knock when sex stuff is going on.” Parker blinked. “Oh, wait, are you guys not done yet? Should I go back outside?”

“Were you out there the _whole time_?” Hardison squawked.

“Well, _yeah_. That’s why it took me so long to answer your text; I had to find a good vantage point.”

Hardison’s mouth was still moving, but no sounds were coming out. Turning onto his back, Eliot made a resigned _come here_ gesture, and Parker beamed at him as she slid the rest of the way into the room. She crawled up onto the bed and curled up on her side next to him, her head pillowed on her hands.

“I liked it,” she said.

Eliot raised his eyebrows at her. “What, creeping on us?”

“Seeing you guys together like that. It was...nice.” Her gaze softened, her smile turning a little dreamy. “I could see myself. You know...like that. Sometime.” Eliot shifted his arm, and she took the silent invitation, hitching nearer and tucking herself up against his side. She lay her head on his shoulder as he put his arm around her, and there was so much trust in that closeness that it made his heart ache.

He’d never been part of an actual wolf pack—there had just been him, and, for too a short time, his mama. But he knew what pack was like. He’d had a taste of it in the army, and he had it now, truer and deeper than ever before. It was Parker nestled up to him like some half-wild thing come in to the fire, part crazy, part just strange, and all herself, with her softness her most secret hidden treasure; it was Hardison coming to lounge against his other side, so smart and so good, with so much heart; and it was the bond that held the three of them close, nevermind their differences: him and his boy and his girl. It was something to fight for with all his being, a reason to be in this world.

Pack was life. Pack was love. Pack was his everything.

“You know,” Hardison murmured, leaning on Eliot as he addressed Parker with a fond smile, “the next time, you could watch us from _inside_ the room.”

Parker lifted her head, wrinkling her nose at him. “That would be weird.” Hardison and Eliot exchanged a glance; Hardison started to chuckle, while Eliot managed to restrain himself to a snort and an eyeroll. Parker frowned at them, puzzled. “What?”

“Baby girl, we love you, you know that?” Hardison said. “We really, truly do.”

And Eliot turned to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Yeah,” he said. “We do.”


End file.
